


Disappearing Act

by impravidus



Series: Batman/White Collar Fics [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Character Study, Damian Wayne is Neal Caffrey, Damian Wayne-centric, Gen, Neal Caffrey is Damian Wayne, Secret Identity, Secret Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impravidus/pseuds/impravidus
Summary: Espionage and infiltration. Intricate subterfuge best executed by the complete suppression of your true self.Espionage and infiltration. Something that Damian hadn’t focused on nearly as much as his combat skills.But shedding his past and wearing the role of a man so unlike himself, well, nothing could truly prepare him for that.(Neal Caffrey is Damian Wayne)
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: Batman/White Collar Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124333
Comments: 26
Kudos: 208





	Disappearing Act

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeautifulSilence21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulSilence21/gifts).



Espionage and infiltration. Intricate subterfuge best executed by the complete suppression of your true self.

Espionage and infiltration. Something that Damian hadn’t focused on nearly as much as his combat skills.

But shedding his past and wearing the role of a man so unlike himself, well, nothing could truly prepare him for that.

It was easier than he expected to become a convicted felon, especially when Tim had a handful of abandoned aliases.

Neal Caffrey, art thief and conman. Notable heists including the Christiano (an abstract made with broken glass, various stones, and kryptonite), the Milan Mourner (that dispersed a slow acting hallucinogenic), and Dots (an exploration of three dimensional art made entirely out of data stealing tech). 

Neal Caffrey was a useful scapegoat for Justice League level threats needing to be solved by somewhat petty crime.

But, aliases needed to be burned often. Clinging to a name only leads to being caught.

And that’s exactly what Damian wanted.

Prison was surprisingly nice. It was… an unconventional type of reliable monotony. Routine with simple expectations.

Damian was seventeen when he was arrested, but Neal Caffrey was in his late twenties.

He could get away with it. Tall and broad with a strong jawline, all courtesy of his Wayne genes.

And so, Damian formed a man that he never could have been. A man he never let himself be.

Smooth where Damian was rough. Charismatic where Damian was still socially inept. Confident where Damian was deeply and secretly insecure. 

Neal Caffrey knew who he was supposed to be. He wasn’t torn by a scorned, blood stained past or an uncertain future.

He was clever. He was always one step ahead. Nothing and no one held him back.

But what made the divide between Neal Caffrey and Damian Wayne so staggering was one fact.

Neal Caffrey was non-violent.

The one thing that Damian Wayne could never be.

It was an instinct that Damian had to bury. An itch that was programmed into him since he was born.

But it was almost… relieving. It was freeing. To not have to use violence. To not have to rely on it.

Damian knew what this really was. It’s running. Running from grandfather. Running from his life. Running from the person he didn’t want to become. He told himself it was running to protect the ones he had let himself love, but maybe it was to protect himself.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

But then he tried to escape when he heard that Batman was fatally injured. 

Of course, he made an excuse. An estranged ex-lover was easier to explain than an estranged vigilante father.

And then… then he became a CI to the man that hunted the ghost of an alias that only existed to be caught.

And now he’s… he’s in too deep in a life he’s grown too fond of.

It’s a simple life, but it’s… something more than prison. He’s making a difference in ways he couldn’t when he was stuck in his cell. His intellect is what makes him valuable, not his brawn and physical skill.

And maybe he still itches for a sword, and maybe he spends his mornings and evenings running through a combat routine because it’s deeply ingrained in him to not slack on his training, but he does it in the safety of his home. 

He drinks fancy coffee in the morning that would make Drake jealous and wears sleek suits that remind him of stuffy galas and has a clunky weight on his ankle that is a constant reminder of the person he is.

And he likes it. He likes it too much. He should’ve known that things would come crashing down.

It starts as a normal day.

Neal has an easy morning. He does his exercises and takes a brisk but relaxing shower. He drinks his fancy coffee and has a protein packed breakfast. 

Peter picks him up and they have easy banter on the drive there. Pop music plays from the radio that fades into a background haze of four chords and infectious drum patterns.

It’s a sunny day with a breeze, but not one so strong that he has to hold onto his fedora.

The office is bustling when they enter.

Neal winks and flirts and charms as he heads to his desk. Damian scans the room because he can tell that something is off.

“Neal!” Diana whistles and snaps at him to follow her into a conference room.

Neal grins at Tana, the smitten intern, and heads to join the team.

“We’ve got a doozy,” Diana says. “One that is bold, italics, underlined urgent with an incentive to get it solved in the form of a big sum of money.”

“Is that how it works?” Neal questions.

“No,” Peter says. “It’s not. But apparently, it’s an amount so egregious that there’s no way we could say no.”

“So, how much money are we talking?” Neal questions, leaning in.

“None that will be going to our pockets directly,” Diana says with a pointed look.

Neal shrugs and plops back into his seat, crossing his feet on the table.

Peter hands them all the file. “Bruce Wayne, former CEO of Wayne Industries.”

Damian tenses, his whole body going rigid and tight.

“Most known for his charity work,” Peter continues, “the wealthy philanthropist also has a reputation for being a somewhat ditzy playboy that makes the Gotham news more often than not.”

Neal covers up his inner turmoil and raises an intrigued eyebrow. “So, what’d he get up to? Don’t tell me he’s committing tax fraud.”

“No,” Peter says. “Stolen art.”

Neal’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m guessing it was expensive.”

“No, actually,” Peter says. “But sentimental. His presumed dead youngest did it.”

Neal winces at the choice of words.

“It was a family portrait,” Peter continues. “So, yeah, a lot of sentimental value.”

Neal’s fingers twitch but do not tap on the table.

He knows that painting. Father kept it in the hallway outside of the ballroom where he guesses it was stolen from during some event. 

It was a good painting. It was some of his best shading work. He had even used everyone’s most flattering angles.

Well, he had tried to find Drake’s bad side, but the man is frustratingly symmetrical. 

“How was it taken?” Neal manages to ask, voice only slightly quavering.

“Wayne was hosting his usual charity banquet and someone managed to sneak out of the party and steal it.”

Neal let those words sink in.

That doesn’t happen.

Things don’t get  _ stolen _ from  _ Bruce Wayne _ when he’s down the hall.

He let it be stolen. And Neal has a few guesses why.

But Damian knows the definitive answer.

Neal gulps, forcing his tense fists to relax. “So, what’s the plan?”

Peter claps. “We’re going to Gotham!”

If there’s anything that Damian is unfamiliar with, it’s dread.

He knows the pang of anxiety associated with a spike of adrenaline before a foe attacks. That’s good instincts.

He knows disappointment. He had become well acquainted with it and covered it up with sharp remarks and a harsh glare.

He knows uncertainty. He pretended well, covered it up with arrogance, but really, all he was was a child who didn’t know where he belonged.

But dread? Dread was reserved for the worst of situations. And this feels like it.

He had tried everything he could think of to get out of this assignment, but Neal’s tells have become Damian’s, and Peter sees right through him.

So, despite all of the alarm bells that are blaring in his mind, the parts of him that know the second he steps back into Grandfather’s radar, it's not just his back that a target will placed upon, he goes.

And it’s not just dread. It’s petrification because he’s become too attached. And he doesn’t want to lose it all.

It’s a two hour drive from the office to Gotham City, New Jersey. Neal carpools with Peter and he pretends to sleep the whole drive.

He has a bag packed with a change of clothes and weapons hidden under the false bottom in the backseat. He’s stashed various throwing knives and stars under his suit and the familiar dig of the metal settles his nerves. Not by much, but it helps.

Gotham is… it’s everything he remembers.

It’s grimy. It’s gloomy. It’s dirty industrial greys illuminated by the dim glare of sun masked by a smog filled sky.

He’s missed it. He hadn’t realized how much.

“Ah, you’re up,” Peter says as Neal stirs awake. “We’re almost there.” When Neal doesn’t reply, Peter clicks his tongue. “Now, remember the rules?”

“Don’t steal from the rich man who just got stolen from,” Neal says flatly.

“That’s right,” Peter says with a grin. “I’m sure there’s a lot that you can look at, though.”

“This isn’t going to be a tour around his fancy antique mansion. We’re on a case.”

Peter’s smile falls into a frown. “You okay, Neal? You seem a little…”

“What?” Neal snaps.

“You’re not gonna be like this when we meet with Wayne are you?”

“I cannot make any promises,” Neal says. His jaw clenches.  _ Great. _ Already falling back into his old persona.

Not persona. Self.

Neal clamps his mouth shut and looks out of the window, body tense and still.

He knows that Peter is glancing at him with concern but he can’t pretend. 

Seeing the manor hurts more than he expected. It was his home. A safe haven he had never had before, something that would become a space where he felt comfortable letting down his guards.

Just being this close makes him want to burn Caffrey and come running back to his family.

But he is Neal Caffrey now. 

He plasters on a megawatt smile and follows Peter into a relic of his past.

Pennyworth answers the door, and Damian can tell that Father didn’t warn him of his arrival.

Neal grins politely, standing behind Peter like he’s a human shield between him and the man who raised him to be better than what he was shaped to become.

“You must be our visitors from the FBI,” Pennyworth says, gaze purposefully avoiding Neal. 

Peter shakes his hand. “Agent Peter Burke, and this is Agent Diana Berrigan, Agent Clinton Jones, and our CI, Neal Caffrey. It’s nice to meet you…”

“Alfred Pennyworth,” he introduces himself, shaking his hand. “I work for Master Wayne.”

“I see,” Peter says. “Would you mind leading us to the scene?”

“Follow me.”

Pennyworth looks good. Better than Neal would have expected considering the immense stress his family constantly imposes on his old, feeble heart.

But he is as poised as ever, even in his surprise arrival. He knows that the man has questions, but Pennyworth knows how to compose himself.

It was a skill that he was insistent on reminding Damian when he was living with him.

It is a skill that has come in handy throughout these years.

“Is Mr. Wayne here?” Diana asks. “It would really help the investigation if we could speak to him.”

“He should be back soon. He had some business to attend to at the office. We weren’t expecting you so soon.”

Peter checks his watch. “We are early.”

Pennyworth leads them to the hallway and motions to the blank wall. “The portrait was last seen here. The entrance to the ballroom is just over here. As you can see, it isn’t a strenuous trek.”

Jones inspects the distance, walking back and forth. “Are there any cameras set up?”

“Master Wayne believes they are an invasion of privacy.”

Wrong. Damian can see at least twenty microscopic surveillance devices from where he’s standing.

Diana hums. “And there weren’t any odd guests at the event?”

“Each invite is thoroughly vetted beforehand,” Pennyworth says. “Master Wayne only wants respectable and serious attendants, especially when there is charity and donations involved.”

“Was there press?” Peter asks.

“The only press invited in were, again, checked personally by Master Wayne. They were reporters that he has personal experience and trust with.”

Father doesn’t trust anyone. He merely tolerates them and makes them believe that he trusts them.

“There was no security outside of the ballroom that would have seen anyone enter or exit?” Diana asks.

“There should have been, however, we suspect that the security was pulled away because of the ruckus by the bathrooms,” Pennyworth explains.

“Which was?” Peter asks.

“Just some drunken socialites who believed they shouldn’t have to wait,” Pennyworth explains.

Neal huffs. Convenient distraction.

“Where are the exits?” Jones asks.

“There are several exits,” Pennyworth says. “The one that the guests entered through is in the ballroom, however there is one by the kitchen to the side garden, one that leads to the garage, one that leads to the back grounds, and the front door you entered from.”

“What do you think, Neal?” Peter asks. “If you were stealing this painting, where would you go?”

“I wouldn’t exit through a door,” Neal says easily. “The manor has an abundance of windows and if one were already open, like the one in the staff kitchen that would be open to air out the heat from the ovens and stoves, I’d go through there.”

“Wouldn’t you run into the staff?” Diana asks.

“The food would have been prepared and served by then. They would be bringing the cutlery and plates back and you could easily slip the painting under one of the carts.”

“Under? Not on?” Jones asks.

“Under. There is a small shelf at the bottom for stability that is the perfect height and width for a painting that size.”

Peter whistles. “We may have the beginnings of a lead then.”

Diana is about to reply when she’s interrupted by a voice that Damian is not prepared to face. Not yet.

“Oh! The FBI! Thank goodness you’re here.”

It’s Brucie Wayne. The embarrassment to his family name that his father insisted was imperative to maintain their secret identities.

Damian was lucky because he wasn’t forced to interact with Brucie Wayne the way Drake and Grayson did. Damian was kept from the ravenous vultures of the media.

At least it made his disappearance easier.

Brucie pays no attention to Neal. Father is watching him with his peripherals, an unwavering stare. 

Brucie is loose and uncaring. However, the little tells, the way his jaw is set and his brow is pinched, shows that Father is extremely emotional.

Damian doesn’t like that he made Father look like that.

Peter runs through the pleasantries again and Brucie accepts the firm handshakes with easy grace.

“You’re gonna help me find it, right?” Brucie asks, eyes wide and lip wobbling. “Because it… it just means the world to me.”

“We will, Mr. Wayne,” Diana reassures. “We’re starting to piece together a strong lead.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.” Brucie’s gaze drifts to Neal. “You said you’re a CI, that’s…”

“A criminal informant,” Neal explains.

“Criminal?” Brucie asks, stepping back with a revolted trepidation. Father eyes him with curiosity.

“Nothing too immoral. Art theft and forgery,” Neal says with a shrug.

Brucie perks up. “So you’re like a first hand expert in art stealers.”

“Exactly,” Neal says.

Father is scrutinizing him and it’s making his palms perspire. Brucie has that infuriating disarming grin. He’s practically twirling his hair with how much he shifts and fidgets.

“Can I talk to you alone?” Brucie asks. “I wanna hear your art stealing insight.”

“Actually…” Peter starts to interject.

“Please?” Brucie asks with batted eyelashes. 

Peter takes a long breath. “We’ll go inspect the staff kitchen.”

Brucie claps with a bright, dopey smile. “Great!”

“You gonna be okay?” Peter asks Neal.

“I’ll be fine,” Neal replies.

The team gives him a curt nod and Pennyworth leads them to the other side of the manor.

Once they’re out of range, Brucie melts away, leaving just Father.

His eyes are soft but dry. His jaw is tight and his shoulders are slightly hunched.

Damian closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see Father like this, so completely hysterical in his emotions.

“You’ve grown,” Father finally says. “You look so much like I did when I was your age.”

What he means is: it has been a long time. He has missed him. He still views him as his blood son, even in his abandonment and absence.

“I see you’ve favored a more lean muscle to aid agility," Father says. "You should focus less on explosive strength and more on tendon strength. Power is quintessential, but not without well maintained muscles.”

_ I’m glad you’re safe. You’ve lost weight since the last time I’ve seen you, but you’re healthy, and that’s what matters. You haven’t been keeping up your physicality with your usual intensity but I can tell that it’s still a part of your life. You need to take care of yourself, especially when I can’t be there to ensure it. _

“I’m guessing you’ll be heading back once you wrap up this case. I know the drive is long.”

_ Where have you been? I’ve searched for you endlessly and I had to come to the conclusion that the League had taken you and I’d never see you again. When I found out that you were alive, that you were barely an afternoon’s drive, I had to see you again. Even if it was just one more time before you have to disappear again. _

“Yes. We can’t stay long. Other cases,” Neal replies.

“Hm,” Father replies.

_ Stay. Stay with me. Come home.  _

“Well, I’m sure it won’t take long,” Father says.

_ This isn’t enough time. I need more time. It’s been too long and I’m going to lose you again.  _

“Hopefully not,” Neal says. “Though, I’m not sure we’ll be able to find any culprit, considering.”

Father’s passive expression barely flinches.

“Jason, my second eldest, he’s quite the troublemaker. Maybe I need to get in contact with him.”

_ I orchestrated this just to see you. Just say something. Don’t make me end this so soon. _

Neal nods. “I’m sure that there is a lot of evidence that we need to consider. Don’t call him just yet.”

_ Not yet. _

Father also nods. “Very well.”

_ I love you. I love you so much. Please don’t leave me again. _

Father clears his throat.

_ I’m proud of you. I am and always will be proud of you, no matter the distance. You are my son and nothing will change that. _

“Well,” Father says.

_ Please. Tell me how to make you trust me. Tell me what to do to get you back. _

“You should probably join your colleagues.”

_ Please. _

“I’m sure they’re looking for you.”

_ The League. I know it’s them. It’s always them. You’ve been on the run. You think you can’t stay, not with them, not with me.  _

“So you better find them.”

_ But you can. You can stay with me. I will protect you. _

“I can lead the way.”

_ There’s something you need to know. _

“You know, my second youngest, Tim, he’s got a lot of connections.”

_ Tim was with the League. _

“He could probably help with the case.”

_ You’re free. You’re safe. Burn this life. Come home. _

“Well,” Neal says, “It’s good to know, but I think we’ve got it.”

_ I can't. _

Father deflates. Just barely, though it’s enough for Damian to notice it.

“You know,” Neal says, “New York’s got a lot of charm. There’s this great restaurant near my place that sells the most authentic middle Eastern food. The next time you’re in New York, I’d recommend checking it out.”

_ Come see me. Come see this life I’ve built. _

Father’s brows raise slightly.

_ You're still letting me in? _

“I can’t go very far,” Neal says. “Not with my two mile radius. But at least I’ve got that restaurant.”

_ I can’t come home, and I won’t. But you can come to me. I want you back in my life. I love you. _

“I often have business in the New York branch of WE. I’ll have to try it.”

_ Thank you. I love you too. _

“Well, I’d better go catch up with the team,” Neal says.

“Do you think you can find the staff kitchen?” Father asks.

Neal smiles softly. “How about you show me?”

_ We’re gonna be okay. _

Father points down the hall. “It’s this way.”

_ I believe you. _

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to chat, my Tumblr is [official-impravidus](https://official-impravidus.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you want to join a White Collar/Batman Discord, click [here!](https://discord.gg/SnjTSuvtds)


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